Chapter 1
I’d like to start this story off with a dedication.
Now, I’ve read enough books (and given a million times as many as gifts over the years) to know that most of them have their dedication before the reader gets to the actual meat of its contents, on a page all by itself. I’ve seen all manner of dedications in my reading experience. Some were simple, like “For (insert appropriate matrimonial role of the party in question’s identified gender/sexual preference)” or “To my children”. Others come across to me as some kind of in joke between dedicator and the dedicatee, something that only they share (and those who are neither often find obnoxious; I know I do). Still others come across to me as convoluted or pretentious, where the author isn’t thanking anyone at all but rather presenting a concept geared toward inspiring the reader or dispensing some fortune cookie wisdom (I always thought that was the purpose of the story, but what do I know?). Those remind me of someone winning an award and taking their allotted time to thank people to instead make a political statement. To me, it seems like the more longwinded and/or the more ostentatious the dedication, and the more flowery the sentiments contained, the more I’m going to loathe the tale that follows. Hopefully, should you agree with that statement, this case will prove to be the exception to that rule.
In my opinion, people don’t really give dedications the attention and respect they deserve. Should they even notice them at all, they just skim over the name or the explanation on the page before they start in on the stuff they picked the book up for in the first place. My theory on that is it’s because it really doesn’t mean anything to anyone save the recipient or recipients of the dedication. If it’s not specifically about the reader or providing them with some sort of benefit, for all they care it may as well not have even existed in the first place. It’s not a judgement, I’ve been known to do it from time to time myself; it’s just the way people are. That’s why I’m putting my dedication here, because this book is, in fact, dedicated to you, and I want you to be aware of that.
Well, most of you, anyway.
Let me explain. The world’s population as I write this is over seven billion, and going to hit eight billion sooner rather than later. Yet one of my more administrative-minded elves recently pulled together the raw data and he and his team spent a fortnight crunching the numbers every which way, revealing that I’m barely visiting the same amount of houses that did back in 1650, when the world’s population was estimated at only 600 million. That didn’t seem right to me, so I asked them to double check their findings to make sure, and turns out that their conclusions held up. Now those days were easy because expectations were so much lower; a few sweets or some wooden toy and the recipient would be happy enough. We’re now living in an age of electronics, jewelry, fashion, and automobiles, and in a culture that seems to have its eye on next Christmas while they’re still opening the presents they received on this one. If I had to satisfy the hopes and dreams of seven billion people in just one night, well… let’s just say yours truly’s figurative partridge would fall out of their pear tree.
But here’s where you all step up. You let the Christmas spirit cover you like sprinkles on your holiday cookies or the first newly-fallen snow, or warm your heart like a cup of cocoa warms your body after some outdoor activity, and you take care of your loved ones splendidly. You know what they like, you know what they need. You know that Grandpa favors a V-neck sweater rather a turtleneck, you know that your brother-in-law Scott prefers the gluten-free option on his Beer of the Month Club membership, you know that your cousin Stella would truly appreciate a phone case with a Wonder Woman logo. And I’m more than happy to step aside and let you shoulder all the individual droplets that make up the lion’s share of the bucket load. That’s because I know better than anybody else does that the smile on the face and the glow in the eye you see when you give someone the perfect gift that shows you how much they appreciate it is worth all the craziness you have to put yourself through to get it for them. So, if I can give you that, well, that’s like a gift to you, and I’m glad to be able to give it to you, so we’re all happy.
These days, I’d say the whole Santa business has evolved in such a way that I’ve become more of a “special projects” sort of guy. Let’s say little Billy has been a really good boy all year, he kept his room clean, he got good grades, he met every level of the criteria his parents have determined make up what their idea of a “good boy” is supposed to be. And after meeting that criteria, what Billy wants to find under the Christmas tree more than anything in the world is one of those Nintendo game stations. And let’s say that, for whatever reason, Mommy and Daddy are dead set against Billy getting that, and they tell him so. I get wind of the fact that Billy wants that Nintendo, I weigh the evidence I have handy and determine that he has been a good enough boy this year to warrant receiving it as a present without too much damage being inflicted on the fabric of existence. So I add Casa de Billy to my Christmas Eve route, drop off the Nintendo and a couple of appropriate games, and cast a little… well, let’s call it a post-hypnotic suggestion, so Mommy and Daddy wake up under the impression that they had bought it and Billy was getting it all along. There are more than a few puppies, electric guitars, sports cars, and even engagement rings that deserving little boys and girls of all ages have received over the years that the givers were unaware that they were giving on Christmas morning when their heads hit the pillows Christmas Eve night.
So, to all of you who lighten my burden, no matter how you do it, this book is respectfully dedicated.
